Best Friends

David got married today. He married his best friend in a lovely, God-centered ceremony. As I often do at weddings, I felt a little sentimental with the passing of time.

I can't help but remember the day, not so many years ago when I was baby-sitting for him; he was 4 years old. David was so excited because I was also going to babysit for Jordan, and they were real pals. As he waited for Jordan to arrive, he skipped over to me and said in his sweet, stuttering voice,

"Hey, M-M-Marna, d-d-d-do you know who my b-b-best friend is?"

Teasing him, I gushed, "Me? I'm your best friend? Oh, David, that is so nice!"

Well, that wasn't exactly what he meant, but he knew in his 4 year old heart that he didn't want to hurt my feelings. Looking perplexed for a moment, he paused, then said,

"D-d-do you know who my second best friend is?"

Congratulations, David and Tara. It truly was a beautiful day!

Tennis Anyone?

I love tennis. I really do. If you think about it, the game is a lot like marriage.

For instance, we start the game with love.  We (Gary and I) then take our turn serving.  If I blow it the first time, Gary always lets me try again.  And sometimes, we give each other the advantage.  Occasionally, we point out each other's faults, but usually we see our own, and confess them.  And we are always forgiven. When our swing seems a bit flat, we just try to follow through until we find that sweet spot and enjoy a long rally.

Success depends on how well we stick to the game plan. If we just hold at the right time, we won't have to worry about the break points.

So when the overheads get too high, and our volleys too deep; when the fuzz wears thin and tennis elbow sets in; when the game just seems like one big racket, it is encouraging to know that even after 15, 30, or 40 years, Gary and I will still be each other's biggest fan.

After all, our match was made in heaven.

Kenny

I like to think I have inherited my dad's wit. He always loved a good joke, many of which he played on others. For example, he was supposed to bring a urine sample to our local doctor's office for his check up. It just so happened that his appointment was on St. Patrick's Day. So my dad takes water, adds green food coloring to it, and hands his "sample" to the nurse.

"Kenny Bauer, what is THAT?" the nurse exclaimed.

My dad replies, "It's a funny thing, but this happens to me every St. Patrick's Day."

A story he loved to tell took place in the 1960s, when he played a joke on Joe, the paper boy. Joe came collecting, as he always did on Saturday morning. Here is the dialogue that followed:

Joe: That will be a quarter please.

Dad: Gee, I don't have a quarter, all I have is a 50 cent piece.

Joe: That's okay, I can give you back a quarter.

Dad: Fine! (Joe gives him his change, and they make small talk for a few minutes, all the while Dad is jangling coins in his pocket)

Dad: (pulls his hand out his pocket) Oh, Joe, look, I do have a quarter after all. Here you go, now give me back my 50 cent piece.

Joe slowly unzips his money bag to retrieve the 50 cent piece, and with a confused look on his face, says: I'm not sure what just happened here, but something about it doesn't feel right.